


in the skellige mountains

by nostrix



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostrix/pseuds/nostrix
Summary: “Oh, I supposed I’ll just have to freeze mydickoff then, don’t mind me.” He sounded every bit as dramatic as he felt but, in fairness, he couldn’t be blamed for the weather making him so needy.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 45
Kudos: 881





	in the skellige mountains

**Author's Note:**

> like a whole 3rd of this is me having fun describing camping in snow and making it cosy, it starts getting steamy after the line
> 
> also, this geralt is like a mix of games and tv except he isn't a giant asshole, so really more games geralt with a bit of 'hmm' sprinkled in.
> 
> anyway its late, i haven't reread except to check the formatting and see why half of it was all in italics 5 minutes ago, but i hope you enjoy reading this and please do let me know what you think!

A fresh fall of snow covered the side of the mountain, crunching deliciously underfoot and reducing the usual rustling and creaking of the forest to a muted ambience. 

From the level patch of ground they had decided to camp on for the night, the whole valley could be seen, and it was bathed in the most wonderful peach colour which faded into a soft blue as a bare smattering of stars began to appear overhead. 

It was breath-taking; one could easily get lost in the way the tall trees glittering in the sun’s pale glow, and that’s exactly what Jaskier did, idly plucking the strings of his lute as snippets of eloquent words flowed easily on from his tongue. Rather, he _was_ doing so – up until Geralt told him to stop idling and help set up camp before the light was fully extinguished. 

Jaskier sighed and put away his lute safely, before going digging through their saddle bags for their tent. Roach wouldn’t carry the weight of a full tent, along with weapons and provisions, so the single sheet was tied between two trees on one side, and pegged into the ground the other two sides; the slant would protect them from snowfall and ensure the weight of it didn’t cause it to collapse in the night. 

As beautiful as it was this high in the mountains, the cold was a menace. The bard often found himself with damp hose and – if the fire had died in the night – hair frozen to his bedroll come morning. 

Whilst he was assembling the driest logs he’d found for a fire, Geralt came back with two hares and a small sack of mushrooms over his shoulder. The hares had been gutted and the pelt free of any gore – the remains would only attract unwanted attention from any beasts nearby – so it was quick work for him to skewer a few pieces of each, light the fire with a short blast of igni, and start cooking. 

Jaskier smiled at the sight as he settled down by the growing fire, perched on a log to keep from the freezing ground. He wrapped himself up in his cloak before taking his lute out of its case to tune. That was one thing about this climate that Jaskier hated: the cold was _also_ a menace to his instrument, and the bard was constantly retuning the many strings when it inevitably went sharp every couple of hours. 

He picked out a light melody on his lute, humming along in cheerful harmony before spinning a few flowery words about generosity and food into a ditty. 

Looking across the fire at the witcher in all his gruff, bulky glory, he thinks he could easily spew lines about the broadness of his shoulders, the strength of his big, big hands, how every inch of him is made of solid muscle carved by Melitele herself. He shows some restraint, though, to save himself the glare Geralt sends every time his songs turn into racy jigs concerning his _prowess_. 

Instead he picks up his newest song where he left off on his account from the week previous, where they had first arrived in Skellige and Geralt had destroyed two monster nests in one day. He strummed a few times to warm up his fingertips before continuing the tune, building up the lyrics and then changing a few words to fit better before jotting them down in his notebook. 

“Wait,” he stopped playing after a while, looking over at Geralt. “What rhymes with wyvern?” 

He’d almost opened his mouth fully to reply before the bard answered himself, “nope, never mind, I'll just rephrase it,” and began scribbling on the page before resuming his composition. 

Geralt regarded him for a moment. 

“You have such a way with words.” 

Jaskier carried on playing quietly but turned to look at the other, a little startled at the admission. 

“I mean, I’m just a little jealous. You can build whole worlds and move people to tears just by singing about it.” Geralt feels a little strange admitting his envy, though being around Jaskier has made it considerably easier to talk about things like _feelings_. “I often wish I could speak to people like you do.” 

Jaskier gathered himself after a moment, a delicate blush spreading on his cheeks that could only be partially blamed on the frigid air. 

“Well I, I mean I’m glad you can appreciate my mastery. Though it’s hardly a survival skill outside of courts and taverns. Out here, away from people, I’m pretty useless. I’d certainly starve to death without you here.” He laughed to himself, not intending the comment to land with seriousness. 

It went quiet again, the only sound being Jaskier having to adjust his lute’s tuning for the third time that evening. 

“I could teach you how to hunt,” Geralt suggested, “teach you to use a knife, maybe a crossbow. Probably not many ways that can go too wrong.” 

“Oh no, no not for me, not after last time; I’ve had enough experimenting with your toys,” the bard hastily rejected that idea with a chuckle. “I’m fine with setting up here and looking after Roach.” Last time, Jaskier had been successful in tying a number of rope snares, setting them all up not too far from the camp. Unfortunately he had _also_ been successful in forgetting to mark the traps, and ended up hanging upside down by his own rope, face dragging in the mud, for half an hour before Geralt had found him. 

He bristled in embarrassment at the memory, but thought he could see the hint amusement on the witcher’s lips as he pretended not to be laughing at Jaskier’s expense. 

“Hmm.” 

They settled into companionable silence as they ate. 

\--- 

The sun had long since set, but the sky retained a pinkish glow – Jaskier briefly sketches a verse about the blushing sky in his head – and as he sat with his back to the fire, he could make out a multitude of constellations dotting the sky, unobscured by the brightness of the fire or the darkness of cloud cover. He gazed for a while, content, with only the quiet ring of a blade on a whetstone, and the crackle and pop of the fire in the background. But before too long his eyes began to droop slightly, toes growing colder, and he decided no amount of poetry would keep him away from his bed a moment longer. 

He had, as much as it pained him at the time, acquiesced to a change of outfit Geralt had picked out, but he had to admit that the extra wool coat and weather resistant travel cloak had done him a world of good. Geralt, for the most part, seemed unaffected by the chill, and remained in his regular armour, though he’d purchased an extra blanket and gathered some extra furs to use as bedding. 

He was grateful for this now, as even when he shuffled under the layers as comfy as he could go, he still felt the cold air seeping through the thinnest part of the pile. He huffed, struggling to arrange himself so no part of him was cold, and after a fruitless several minutes he gave up. 

“Geralt.” 

The witcher continued rubbing the cloth over his blade. 

“Geraaalt,” he tried again, letting an impatient whine into his voice. “Geralt come to bed its _freezing_.” 

This time Geralt looked over at him with faint amusement – though it was hard to see the expression in the dark – and, after a moment, started to put away his supplies. 

“It’s just, I fear I shall lose the use of my hands at this point, and I’m _sure_ you realise just how much of a money maker they are,” Jaskier continued, still staring at him. The witcher carried on fussing for a moment, before standing up and walking off, out of sight and obscured by the tent. 

Jaskier huffed again, exasperatedly, and flopped back onto the bedroll. “Oh, I supposed I’ll just have to freeze my _dick_ off then, don’t mind me.” He sounded every bit as dramatic as he felt but, in fairness, he couldn’t be blamed for the weather making him so needy. 

Before long, he heard a shuffling behind him, followed by a cold draft felt through his thin night shirt as one side of the pile of blankets is lifted enough for all of Geralt’s bulk to fit underneath. 

Jaskier sighed contentedly at the new warmth, allowing the other to manhandle him so he was pressed back up against Geralt’s chest and they were both facing the warmth of the fire. 

“I could hear your teeth chatting from all the way over there,” the witcher murmured into the top of the brown hair below him. Geralt’s hand on his belly was joyfully warm, and Jaskier found himself relaxing easily into the embrace. 

“Mhm, then why didn’t you come and put me out of my misery earlier, you ass?” The brunet grumbled in faux irritation. “I thought you were ignoring me on purpose.” 

A puff of air against his hair accompanied the faint, deep chuckle behind him. 

“Why would I do that? Just needed to say good night to Roach. It’s cold out there you know.” 

“Oh, oh is it? Is it really?” Jaskier turned slightly, enough to look at him in mock indignation before relaxing again. “I know you witchers aren’t as sensitive to temperature as us humans, but you must be a true scoundrel to ignore the plea of a man in need.” 

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Geralt’s hand rubbed small circles into his belly as if to warm him up, creeping low enough to brush the material of his undergarments. Jaskier melted into the gentle touch. 

“Well yes, that may be true but- but I’m still cold from waiting,” he complained, still trying to remain pouty. 

Geralt hummed into his hair, hand now creeping lower over the fabric of his crotch. “Perhaps I ought to make it up to you then,” and he pressed down slightly, feeling the outline of his cock and delighting in the little breathy sound Jaskier let out at the contact. He wanted to get more noises out of the bard in his arms. 

“Ah, that- that's a _very_ good idea.” He stuttered, before pressing back into the bigger man. He gasped upon feeling his hardness pressing insistently up against his backside through the thin layers of clothing, getting an answering groan from the witcher. 

Geralt shifted so he could reach his other arm underneath and around Jaskier’s side, pushing up the fabric of his shirt. Jaskier arched into his touch with a happy sigh as his large hand splayed against his chest possessively, grazing a hard nipple with calloused fingers. His other hand slipped steadily down, palming him so slow and teasing as the bard moaned softly. 

Like this, Jaskier felt almost dwarfed in the witcher’s arms, encased deliciously as he was by thick muscle on all sides. However, this very strength was sometimes infuriating, as he could tease all he wanted, string him out for _ages_ and the smaller man would be unable to move enough to even jerk himself off, resorting to begging Geralt to let him finish. 

Right now, it just meant that the witcher could play with him nice and slow, take his time and make Jaskier feel good, and he wasn’t _at all_ against that idea. Right now, he relished in the big warm hands taking care of him, keeping him warm enough and bringing a slow pleasure. 

“What did you say earlier, hm?” He spoke low, right into Jaskier’s ear, nosing at his neck before licking at the soft skin behind his jaw. “Something about a _frozen dick_ -” Jaskier choked off a laugh in surprise- “better make sure it’s warm enough.” 

Jaskier bucked hard into the hand as it finally slipped under the fabric, warm and rough fingers grasping at his hard cock as he moaned out loud in exquisite pleasure. His hand was so big against him it just covered the full length of his cock, the tip peeking out of his gentle fist. 

“Ah, _yes_ Geralt, that’s good-” he moaned again as the other began rocking his hips into him at the same time as stroking him, the feeling him against his ass so _big_ and perfect. 

Geralt hummed in satisfaction, a deep rumble Jaskier felt in his own chest from the proximity. Geralt pushed at the material around his hand until Jaskier’s thighs and ass were bare, taking a minute to run his hand hungrily over the soft, smooth skin he found there. The smaller man was panting when he reached back and grasped at a scarred hip, trying to pull it even closer to him, so Geralt reached down, brushing the desperate hand out of the way so he could push his own underwear down past his thighs, freeing his sizeable cock to nudge against him. 

“Dear _Melitele_ please tell me you ha- _ah_ \- you have oil, Geralt,” he gasped, arching his hips back to press against his length. 

Geralt cursed under his breath. 

“There’s some in Roach’s pack?” he offered weakly. 

Jaskier groaned aloud. “No, that won’t do. Too cold,” he said distractedly, and continued rocking back against the hips behind him. 

Geralt considered going to get it anyway, remembering the deliciously tight heat of the bard’s body, but discarded that idea if it meant leaving their current situation for any length of time. Instead, he brought one hand up to spit in palm before bringing it down and sliding it between Jaskier’s legs. 

A surprised sound caught itself in the bard’s throat at the wet feeling, before he caught onto what the other was doing, and allowed his thighs to be slicked with cooling saliva. 

“Oho, Geralt, you, _ah_ , you really do have some delightful ideas sometimes.” He grinned. 

And with that Geralt spat once more into his palm to coat his stiff cock, before sliding smoothly between Jaskier’s thighs. 

Both men let out sounds of pleasure at the contact, and as the tip of Geralt’s cock pressed against the underside of his balls, Jaskier whined and jerked back into it, voice edging on desperation as he asked for _more, please Geralt_ \- 

He drew his hips and pushed forward again, using one hand to hold onto the other man’s waist and pull it towards him as he began moving swiftly in and out of that beautiful, soft warmth. Geralt angled his head and kissed at the side of Jaskier’s neck before tonguing the area roughly, drawing out a whine from the smaller man. Still thrusting, he sucked on his neck as one hand made its way up to play with his nipples, rubbing over them and pinching them and driving small whimpers out of Jaskier’s throat. 

Jaskier was basking in the sensations, letting out moans unabashed and rocking back with each thrust. His thighs quickly became slick with Geralt’s precum, and he reached a hand down to pleasure himself in time with the movement. 

Geralt growled, swatting away his hand and replacing it with his own again, encasing the member in a delicious warmth, hand still slick from his own cock. He rolled his hips lasciviously, drawing a keen from the man in front of him. 

“Come on, Jask,” he panted, still mouthing at the other’s neck. “ _Come for me_.” 

Geralt rolled his thumb over the leaking crown of his cock, nudged his balls with his cock, and that was all the encouragement Jaskier needed. He moaned loudly as he came, spasming in Geralt’s sturdy hold as he finished into the witcher’s right hand, who continued rocking into him. 

He came down pleasantly, still warm, and watched wide-eyed as Geralt brought his stained right hand to his own mouth. His spent cock twitched in interest. 

“Oh, fuck, Geralt...” If he hadn’t climaxed already, that would surely have finished him off. He licked Jaskier’s spend from his fingers as if it were a treat to savour. 

Geralt thrusted a few more times and came with a deep grunt and a soft “ _Jask_ ” spoken straight into his ear, painting the insides of Jaskier’s thighs with his seed. He jerked, emptying the last of himself with a couple final rolls of his hips, catching the other’s oversensitive genitals in the movement and eliciting a gasp. 

They stayed like that for a moment, panting and basking in warmth and contentment, before Geralt retrieved Jaskier’s forgotten and now ruined sleep pants. He gently wiped the skin of his soft thighs before tossing it aside and sinking back behind the sleepily pliant bard. 

Geralt tucks his head into Jaskier’s neck and breaths deeply, the scent of their activities leaving him with a sense of contentment, and he brought his arms up to wrap around his bard’s torso in a safe embrace, shielding him from the cold night. 

Jaskier murmured a quiet goodnight before slipping into unconsciousness. Geralt listens to his heart even out, and presses a kiss into his bard’s soft hair before following him into a restful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i think it differs with instruments but with guitars at least, the metal strings contract in the cold and the tighter string makes a higher sound. there's something abt humidity somewhere in there too i forget, but extreme weather fucks up ur tuning. no idea what kind of material they used for strings in that time but also, this is a fantasy setting so i have enough leeway not to do research


End file.
